Spinneret
by PutAnotherX
Summary: The thing is, Peter has become an important part of Tony's life. It all spirals from there. Uploaded from AO3.
1. Careless

The thing is, Peter has become an important part of Tony Stark's life. Tony created his first will very soon after his parents died. Since Afghanistan, he's been updating it obsessively every time he thought of something to add or change. It is one of the healthier ways he copes with… everything. Not that it's saying much. Peter is his heir apparent. He doesn't have kids, and Peter isn't just a genius. He's something Tony could never claim to be—good, from the ends of his messy brown hair to the tips of his worn out New Balance sneakers and deep in his spidery little heart.

But just because Peter spends every other weekend upstate and shows up to Tony's workshop to find him and gives him that innocent grin doesn't mean he's told him anything about leaving him the keys to the castle. And it doesn't mean he wants Peter's face plastered on every shitty tabloid across the country. It's his fault, Tony knows. He got careless and spent too much time with Peter in public. He donated to Midtown Tech, spent an unprecedented amount of time in his NYC penthouse, gotten photographed from a distance at a three-star restaurant in Queens sitting next to his brand-new fiancé and across from an unpaid Stark Industries intern.

At first, Peter assures him that it isn't going to be a big deal. His name wasn't printed, he says. Just a blurry picture of a normal looking fifteen-year-old, he says. It could be anybody. But it's not anybody. Tony knows about journalists, and he knows Peter won't stay anonymous for long, no matter how many lawsuits he files.

It takes a week before one of Peter's classmates, some Sparky Thomas douche, spills the beans to a newspaper. It's a Tuesday, and by Friday, Peter Parker's entire history is out in the world. Everything is printed but his home address. Photographers and journalists show up at his school.

"Happy," Peter says from the back seat of the Mercedes Maybach, "You don't have to drive me to school. I can take the bus."

"Listen, Peter," Happy replies. "Tony wants you safe. We all do." He throws a Stark Industries baseball cap and a pair of branded black wayfarers to the back. He knows Peter caught them both without having to look.

"Can I keep these?" Peter asks with a grin in his voice. He pulls the cap over his mop of curls.

Happy sighs. "What do I care? We've got a million just lying around."

"Sweet!"

As expected the front sidewalk of Midtown Tech is swarming with journalists, photographers, and paparazzi. Peter is uncharacteristically silent in the back, staring out through the tinted window with a dark expression.

"Hey, kid," Happy says. "We briefed the school, upped the security. No one's gonna get in or out without us knowing, okay?"

"Yeah," Peter agrees, but he breathes it out like he's forgotten himself. "It's just," he starts. "It's just that I've never had to do this. Not as Peter."

Happy nods.

"I don't feel so good, Happy," Peter says.

"I can take you home. If you want." For once, Happy doesn't put any edge into his voice. There's no anger or frustration behind his words.

Peter seems taken aback by this. "No, it's fine," he says. "It's just nerves. Let's go."

Happy slides on his Bodyguard Sunglasses and gets out of the car, going around to open Peter's door. Peter's hoodie, hat, and glasses cover most of his face. Happy puts one hand out to block reporters and one hand on Peter's shoulder to push him along as fast as they can go without actually running.

"Look, kid," Happy says when they've made it inside, "just lay low and make good choices. And for the love of God, don't do anything Tony would do."

* * *

Peter thinks it's nerves at first, the strange feeling wrapping around his lungs, and he tries to forget about it. It's not actually hard with everyone staring at him. Too many conversations stop abruptly when he enters the room for it to be a coincidence. He hears them anyway. Flash keeps glaring at him, a reminder that Peter has just proven him wrong in front of the whole school. Peter hopes he knows better than to retaliate.

The feeling gets worse, his lungs get tighter and tighter throughout the morning. By fourth period, Ned and MJ are giving him strange, lingering looks.

"Peter," Ned says during passing period, "are you alright?"

Peter nods. "I'm fine, don't worry," he says.

MJ is not nearly as subtle. "You look like you're dying," she tells him. "Go home."

"I can't," he says, "I've got a bio test."

"That's not gonna matter if you're dead, loser." But this time, there's no fire. She sounds genuinely concerned. Peter frowns. He takes her hand by the wrist and holds it up to his forehead.

"I'm fine, see?" he says. She rolls her eyes, but when the back of her hand touches his face, she jerks back.

"Jesus, Parker, it's like touching a stove!" She looks at Ned. "We've got to get him to the nurse. Now."

They go, MJ pulling and Ned pushing Peter to the nurse's office across the building as he protests the whole way there.

"I'm fine, guys," he whines unconvincingly. Even as he walks, he realizes how tired he is. "Really." His eyelids start to droop.

The nurse takes one look at him and pulls out a thermometer. Peter lies down on the little cot, trying not to fall asleep. Reality seems to be shifting quickly around.

"Oh God," he hears Nurse Carrie say as she blinks at the tiny digital display. "Kids, go to the front office," she orders. "Tell Principal Morita to call Peter's aunt. I'm going to call an ambulance. Now. Go."

Peter's eyes close.


	2. Charlotte A Cavatica

Peter's eyes open in glimpses, brief flashes of ceiling tiles and EMTs calling his name. Nothing ever comes into focus or turns into more than just a painful blur of colors and lights. More than anything, it hurts. Every ragged, hitching breath his lungs pull in feels like a million rusty knives clawing their way out of his chest. He coughs uncontrollably. It pulls up sludge from the depths of his body. He hears words like "fluids" and "wake up, kid" and "possible respiratory infection" and "fever at one-oh-six and climbing." And sirens. There are sirens. Everything is toomuchtoomuchtoomuch for him and it feels like his head is splitting open from the noise, the lights, the everything.

It all just blurs together in a rush of pain and confusion. His body jolts when the stretcher is wheeled out of the ambulance into the ER. It's strange, being here as Peter Parker when he's avoided the place for so long as Spider-Man. That thought is pitched violently out of his mind with another round of racking, excruciating coughs. His mind starts to defog just enough to be aware of his surroundings as a doctor calls his name.

"Peter?" she calls sweetly. "Peter, honey, can you keep your eyes open?" He tries. He does, but they fight back harder than ever before. "Peter, your aunt is on her way. Can you hear me?"

Somehow he manages to nod, but doing it makes his brain ring. He groans and manages to lift a hand to his temple.

"Can you tell me anything about what's wrong, Peter?" the doctor asks.

"Hurts," is all he can say.

"Where, Peter?"

He's ripped again into a fit of coughing.

"Your lungs, Peter?" she asks

He nods. "Tight," he huffs, his hand reaching to his chest.

"Let's get him in for a chest x-ray, now," the doctor orders. "We need to figure out how he got so bad so fast. Get a temperature every five minutes. Once he's out of radiology, get him in an ice bath. Get that fever down any way you can before his brain melts."

Peter groans, and his eyes slip closed again.

* * *

May leaves in the middle of her shift as a secretary for the law firm two blocks from her apartment. At first when she says she has to go, Sally Bennet looks like she's going to joke about her taking off, but she must change her mind when she sees the look in May's eyes.

"Go," she whispers. "Go, I'll take care of it."

So May runs. She gets in her old blue Honda and punches it down the street. And when she gets there, to the hospital, the ICU, to Peter, her kid, her Peter. When she gets there, he's soaking in a tub of ice, but he's still fucking steaming in a way she's never seen a person do before.

"What's his temperature?" she asks a nurse who isn't busy trying to hold Peter into the tub while he fights to escape it. Hearing him scream and plead and beg feels like her heart is being ripped out and torn to pieces. He hasn't even noticed her yet.

"He's at one-fifteen," the nurse says. "We have no idea how he's even still alive."

"That has to be a mistake," May says. "That's not possible."

"We've checked it with a different thermometer every time ma'am." The nurse looks at her dubiously. "I'll get the doctor," he says.

* * *

"It seems like an advanced case of chemical pneumonia," Doctor Waldroup tells May. "Basically, he aspirated something bad, and it got infected in his lungs. But his body's working way too hard to fight it, and he's throwing up or burning off all the meds we give him." She pauses. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Parker. We're doing everything we can, but if things keep going the way they are... I would call the whole family in. Let him see them."

"What are his chances?" May asks.

The doctor hesitates. "That's probably not something you really want to know, ma'am." She says it slowly, pulling at the edge of a bandage that is barely keeping the dam from spilling in May's brain.

"Please. What are his chances."

Waldroup bites her lip. "Optimistically?" she says. "15 percent."

May feels the hope rush out of her. "It's just us, Doctor. He doesn't—We don't have anyone else." She can feel the tears she'd been fighting back spill over her cheeks when another of Peter's cries reaches them.

"Look, Mrs. Parker," Dr. Waldroup says. "We're not going to stop trying. He's still alive, which is much more than we can reasonably expect given his current condition. He's been resistant since he opened his eyes, but if you could help calm him down, we might be able to do more."

May nods fervently. "I should—" her voice breaks. "I should make a call first."

* * *

Tony Stark loves code names. He always has. It's a nice subtle way to get in a little snub at someone if he wants to, but more importantly, it keeps things private. When Tony gets the call, he's in the middle of a meeting with the board, but F.R.I.D.A.Y. always puts Charlotte A. Cavatica through. And yeah, it's a little obvious, but no one ever looks that hard or even hears the protocol the order goes through—Webs: he was feeling nostalgic at the time.

When he gets the call, he's in a board meeting, pretending to sleep. F.R.I.D.A.Y. interrupts some blowhard monologue from Smith about something Tony really doesn't have any interest in or concern over. Smith is always worried about dumb, inconsequential shit. At first, he's relieved. But Cavatica never calls him unless it's to chew him out or ask—read: demand to know—where young Wilbur is, so he's nearly immediately brought back down to Earth.

"Boss," F.R.I.D.A.Y. announces. Every board member frowns, and Pepper narrows her eyes at him and shakes her head almost imperceptibly. "Mrs. Charlotte A. Cavatica is calling regarding the Spinneret Project. Wilbur, specifically. She says it's urgent."

"Tony," Pepper whispers, her words filled with fire and venom, "I swear to God, you cannot just keep making up people and projects and emergencies to get out of your responsibilities."

Tony grimaces at her, pulling air through his teeth loudly. "Sorry, Pep," he says. "F.R.I.D.A.Y., I'll take that call in the nearest secure room." He stands and gives Pepper a loud, wet kiss on the cheek. "Important, personal, classified matters to attend to," he announces with a dismissive wave of his hand as he strides out of the room.

His stomach drops into his shoes when he hears May's voice on the other end of the line.


	3. Ice

When May hangs up, she braces herself with a deep, shuddering breath before she goes back into the room. Peter's still crying, begging the nurses to let him go. They've got him down to his underwear, and there are five of the biggest nurses May's ever seen pushing down on his shoulders, but his body is still hovering above the ice bath by a good three inches. She kneels beside him.

"Peter," she says. Her eyes fill with fresh tears when his wide, wild eyes meet them.

"May," he sobs. She puts her hands on either side of his face, and he squeezes his eyes shut.

"Peter, please, please get in the tub," she begs. "It won't hurt you, I promise. They only want to help."

Peter stops trying to push himself out, but he still doesn't let himself down. He opens his eyes again.

"May, help," he whispers, and his voice is rasping and filled with tears and horror.

"I know you're scared, Peter," she says, stroking his cheek with a thumb. The doctor told her to use his name repeatedly as a way to comfort and ground him. "I'm scared, too. But I need you to get in the ice for me, Peter."

Peter gives a heaving, racking sob, accompanied by another round of wet coughs, before he slowly lowers his body into the ice. May counts it as a start.

* * *

Tony counts it on the long list of things he never wanted to see. Or hear, for that matter. Of course, that meant he'd never forget it. He sees May beg Peter to get in, Peter crying and coughing, nurses trying ineffectually to force him into the tub. It isn't until Peter's actually in the tub for a few seconds, melting the ice like he's a human frying pan, that a nurse even notices Tony.

"Sir," he said, adjusting his scrubs after the struggle, "you can't be here." Tony can pinpoint the exact moment the nurse recognizes him by the sudden falter in his voice. May whips her head around, but Peter doesn't notice.

"No!" she all but shouts. She flinches at her own volume before she continues. "No, it's okay. I called him. He can stay."

"Give me his stats," Tony orders, and the nurses all trip over themselves to spit out the information. Tony scrubs a hand over his face. 116 is higher than he thought was possible, and he really wishes the kid would stop trying to outdo himself.

He fits an earpiece into his ear, tapping the button on the side to activate F.R.I.D.A.Y. in case he needs her. May is still comforting Peter, who's whimpering into her hands.

"Sir," the first nurse says, tripping over his words while the other nurses empty bags of ice into the tub. "Mr.—uh, Mr. Stark, sir, the medications aren't, uh, working, sir."

Tony scowls. "What do you mean they're not working?"

The nurse seems to find his confidence again, at least. "We pushed pulse antibiotics and we gave him Tylenol to try and reduce his fever, but he burned off the antibiotics and threw up the Tylenol. He's been doing that with everything we've given him. That plus the, uh, considerable strength." He seems reluctant to continue.

Tony's lips press into a hard line. "Well?" he prompts.

"He seems to be enhanced, sir."

Ton rolls his eyes. "Okay, duh. F.R.I.D.A.Y., draw me up a nondisclosure agreement."

"You've heard of HIPAA, right?"

* * *

Peter is surprised at how good it feels. He's never had the urge to dunk himself in a tub of ice, but it is way better than he ever thought it would be. May's hands are cool and soothing on his red, scorching face, so he leans into them and closes his eyes. He's vaguely aware of some discussion across the little room and some whimpering he thinks might be coming from him, but he times it out. Instead, he focuses on May's voice, reassuring and familiar and sweet.

"It's alright," she whispers. "It's okay, you're gonna be okay, we're gonna make you okay again." She rubs her thumbs back and forth on his cheeks. "I love you, you're gonna be okay."

He doesn't feel as hot, but his whole body still aches. His lungs still feel as though every millimeter of them is being branded.

He loses himself again, possibly dozing off.

When he opens his eyes, May and Mr. Stark—how long he's been here, Peter isn't sure—are talking fervently in the corner, and strong hands are lifting him out of the cool water that used to be ice. The hands hold him up, help him into a pair of gray sweatpants and a hospital gown.

A disembodied voice—maybe the hands can talk, Peter thinks—announces, "His fever's down to one-oh seven."

"We're transferring him," Mr. Stark says instead of responding.

"That is not advised at all, sir," another floating voice says. This one is a woman. "If you move him, he could die. No other hospital in New York is going to be better equipped. We're all on equal footing with this."

Mr. Stark sighs. It's a sound Peter's grown accustomed to. "I understand, Doctor. You've all done your best. Expect a donation, but we are moving him. Somewhere that's equipped to deal with him, specifically."

Peter's eyes close again.


	4. The Grim Fucking Reaper

Bruce Banner is not answering his phone. He hasn't been, of course. Not since Ultron, but Tony is getting to the end of his chances. Dr. Helen Cho is on a plane to New York with a hand-picked colleague with experience in medicating enhanced individuals, but the leading expert in that field is currently who-knows-where doing who-knows-what instead of answering Tony's tenth call in as many minutes.

As much as he understands the urge to run and hide, he can't help being pissed that Bruce would ignore him like this. F.R.I.D.A.Y. is directing the setup of a small medical lab in Brooklyn to transfer Peter, May is guiding him into the hospital bed, the nurses have managed to get his fever down to 106, and Tony feels helpless. And, of course, Pepper is running the board meeting he left.

Realistically, he can't do anything. He's not a doctor, and he's not some medical expert. All he can do is watch as Peter babbles to May in frantic whispers, his breaths wet and ragged. Most of it, Tony can't really pick up, but he hears one sentence cut through the rest.

"I want to go home," Peter says. His forehead rests on May's shoulder, and his eyes are closed.

"I know, honey," she whispers, rubbing his back soothingly with one hand and his hair with the other. "Lay down for me?" Peter obeys, but as soon as he's down on the bed, he grabs her hand. Her other hand keeps smoothing his hair out of his face. It would be a sweet picture, Tony thinks, if the kid didn't so clearly have one foot in the grave.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y.," he says under his breath, "get Happy out here as soon as possible."

"You have an incoming call from Pepper Potts, sir," she says in his ear.

"Ignore."

* * *

Happy is losing his mind, he thinks. Being stuck between Pepper and Tony was bad enough, but now he's got a whole other obligation to a kid who probably—no, definitely—has a death wish. All things considered, though, Peter isn't as bad a charge as Tony. When he doesn't stop talking, it's usually earnest, curious questions instead of condescending quips. Sometimes he feels bad about putting Happy through something particularly rough. Pepper's better than both of them by a mile, though. Pepper doesn't seek out fights with the grim fucking reaper.

But having a bodyguard, an asset manager, or whatever it is Happy is these days doesn't stop pneumonia. It doesn't stop how small Peter looks in a hospital bed with an oxygen mask on—"He was turning blue," Tony had said. And yeah, Happy gets that. He understands that he's not gonna be able to protect this weird kid from everything, especially all the things the kid protects others from. He gets it, but that doesn't make it any easier. If anyone asks, he'll deny it, but Peter's grown on him since the plane incident with the Vulture.

Happy sits in a chair outside Peter's room, pretending to read a magazine. It's got the kid's face on the cover and a two-page spread about Richard, Mary, and Ben Parker. Instead, Happy flips to Who Wore It Best and settles in. The ambulance had been called approximately two hours ago, and Dr. Cho and her colleague had gotten on a jet at an executive airport in Sacramento about one hour after that. The plane would take approximately 4 hours to arrive at Rochester, where a helicopter would pick them up and drop them off directly at the medical lab in Brooklyn in approximately 15 minutes.

He's got it timed. Now he waits.

* * *

For Peter, waiting takes a lifetime. He shivers uncontrollably under the thin white blankets, and his forehead shines with sweat. The oxygen mask the nurse had fitted over his face pumped a steady flow of cool, clean air at him. May's hand is in his hair as his eyelids fight to close. She's resting her chin on the bed, and he can tell by the way her eyes close halfway that she's tired too. He takes the hand in his hair and holds it against his cheek, letting his eyes close.

May takes it as permission. Her eyes close as well.


	5. And An Espresso Machine

Peter doesn't wake up until they're unloading him from the transport helicopter. Later he'll kick himself for sleeping through a helicopter ride, he thinks. It could've been a dream come true if he weren't 1000% sure he's dying.

The blades chop the air into pieces, and even though that noise fills the space around him, he thinks he might hear May crying. Upsetting her feels like he'll never breathe again. He fades in and out while he's wheeled into a sterile white room with sleek machines that he gets hooked up to. He hasn't even been to a hospital since he got his powers and since he was five before that. It would be jarring, if he could keep his eyes open.

He's forced awake for a minute to deal with the slimy knives pushing themselves up his trachea. His stomach recoils at the mental image. May's hand is warm in his.

"Peter," someone says, "my name is Helen Cho. My colleague and I are here to help you."

* * *

"Look, I know I owe you big for this one," Tony says.

"You didn't say he was a child," Helen says distractedly. She chews on her bottom lip, and the words come out a bit lopsided. It's not really a response, she knows. "This changes things a bit." She's vaguely aware of Tony saying her name as she stares at the boy through the one way glass.

"Dr. Cho," he calls loudly. She snaps out of her thoughts and whips her head toward him.

"Can you do it?" he asks. She doesn't think she's ever seen him so personally concerned.

She looks back at the boy. "Yes. Get us three nurses and an espresso machine."

He smiles, exhaustion pulling at the corners of his mouth. "F.R.I.D.A.Y.?"

"On their way, Boss."


	6. Just Lie

Pepper hasn't been this angry at Tony in a long time. It's one thing to disappear in the middle of a board meeting. She's used to that. He does it almost every time.

It's a completely different thing to go off the grid and not answer any calls or texts. Not even F.R.I.D.A.Y. would tell her where he was, so as soon as that dot lights up in Brooklyn, she gets a car.

The color of the building on the map (Ironman red, of course) tells her Tony owns the building independent of Stark Industries. When she pulls up, she can see the helicopter on the roof from the ground. The front door is locked.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y.," she snaps, "I know he's in there. Let me in." She imagines she looks insane to anyone passing by, talking to a building. Of course, this building talks back.

F.R.I.D.A.Y. doesn't answer at first. Pepper knows she's asking Tony for permission, and she lets out an annoyed huff. After a few seconds, however, the front door swings open to a barren lobby, and by the time she crosses the room, the elevator dings open.

* * *

"Tony. Stark."

Tony hasn't heard her voice this angry in a while. He knows exactly why, but it doesn't change the terror that crushes his heart in a well-manicured fist. He schools his expression into that careful disinterest he's cultivate over the years. He spins to face his worst nightmare.

"Pepper!" he greets. The words start to pour out of him like an overflowing sink. "Welcome to the party. Glad you could make it. We've been setting up. It was supposed to be a surprise, you know, but—"

"Cut the bullshit, Stark," Pepper snaps, her red bottomed pumps smacking against the tiles much harder than they usually do. "You went offline. We had a deal."

"The thing is, Pep," he answers through a wince.

"Where's the kid? I know he's here too," Pepper continues. "You checked in Spinneret." When she stands in front of him, she stares him down until his insides light on fire.

Tony feels his face fall, and he scrubs a hand over his face. "That's kind of the thing, Pepper." This time, she lets him speak, albeit with venom in her stare. "It's about Spinneret."

"What about it?"

"It's been compromised."

"How so?"

"I'll show you."

* * *

The thing is, Pepper doesn't know Peter all that well. They've met a few times in passing, and he's shaken her hand too fast and too hard and he's spit out a ridiculous number of words that puts to shame even Tony at his chattiest. But she knows Tony. And she knows that Tony is very attached to the kid that is currently looking too small and too pale on a hospital bed in a sterile room. She knows behind that rich asshole face he's giving her—one she hasn't seen in full force in a long time—is genuine, crippling fear.

"You could have just told me," she whispers, her eyes never leaving Peter—young, sweet, enthusiastic, lively Peter. Tony doesn't really respond, just gives her a slow, pleading look. "Is there anything you need me to do?" she offers.

"Just—" Tony's voice breaks. "Just, if anyone asks, lie."

"Of course," Pepper says.


	7. Chest Ultrasound

Things are almost calm by the time the doctor comes into Peter's room, pushing a machine on a cart in front of her. She smiles at him.

"Peter," she says, "I'm Doctor Cho. I have people working on some medicine for you, but I'm the meantime I thought we could do an ultrasound. Is that alright?"

Peter looks to May, who nods at him. Her hand hasn't left his since they got to this building, and her thumb rubs up and down the back of his hand. Her free hand reaches up to push his hair back where it's sticking to his sweaty forehead.

"We'll do whatever it takes," she says.

Dr. Cho's face scrunches up in a pained expression, but it's gone as fast as it came.

"Help me get his shirt off?" she asks May.

Peter doesn't say anything as they move him around, pulling his arms over his head and disentangling him from the too-big Stark Industries t-shirt he has on. He feels like his brain is under water. They lower him back to his bed, but this time his pillows are gone. Dr. Cho pushes a button, and Peter starts to straighten out, his bed slowly flattening.

"This is going to be cold," she says and squirts a glob of clear gel onto his chest. It feels good against his overheated skin, but a shiver runs up his spine just the same. The wand presses into his rib cage. He stares at the tiles in the ceiling numbly. The whoosh sound of his heart fills his ears from the speakers.

* * *

"Well, that is pneumonia," Dr. Cho says. May feels the air leaving her body. "Most likely, he aspirated dirty water and the bacteria grew. Has he been in a lake recently? Or inhaled standing water?"

May looks at Peter, but she doesn't really expect him to respond. Not when he's staring through the ceiling like he's on a spirit quest. For all she knows he is.

"You'd have to ask Stark," she replies. "He's the one who keeps his stats from that suit."

Dr. Cho blinks. Her mouth opens, but it takes a second for anything to come out. "Of course there is a suit." Her lips twist into a scowl.

May had assumed she knew. "What's that supposed to mean?" She's aware of just how defensive she sounds, but there's nothing she can do to stop it.

"Tony would not be Tony without some kind of Stark Tech complication," Dr. Cho answers as she packs up the ultrasound. She seems decidedly unworried about whether or not May is going to hit her. It's a nice change of pace. "And Peter would not be Tony's... protege without one." She moves to leave the room, but turns around before she gets through the door.

"I am sorry, Mrs. Parker," she says. "I know how it feels to see a loved one in pain."

* * *

"So it is pneumonia," Tony says. "Why did he crash so hard?"

Helen nods. "Our working theory is that his enhanced immune system went haywire trying to fix it. His temperature spiked, and he went down."

"So we can fix it?" Tony doesn't want to get his hopes too high.

"This time," Helen says. "But you should know that this could happen again. It's essentially an autoimmune disorder. If his body is faced with an illness strong enough, it could shut down entirely."

"So what do we do about that?" he asks.

"Just—" she sighs, "monitor his temperature. Make sure he gets all his vaccinations. Don't let him get dunked in a dirty river without putting him through a course of antibiotics. We've got the modified drugs headed to him right now. He should be feeling a bit better by tonight."


	8. Powers Down

Dr. Cho is right. Peter can breathe again by the end of the night, albeit in frail wheezes. They keep the oxygen mask over his face, but he can sit up in his bed and watch the news.

And on the news he's getting wheeled out of Midtown on a gurney over and over from every different angle. There's even drone footage. He guesses that's what comes with his fifteen minutes of fame: exposure.

"At nine thirty-six this morning, Stark Industries intern and Tony Stark's personal protégée Peter Parker was rushed out of school at Midtown School of Science and Technology by paramedics," the blond reporter, Mallory Evers says. "Parker was transported to New York-Presbyterian Hospital in Queens. As of yet, there is no word on why the ambulance was called or his condition at this time." The tv clicks and powers down.

"You don't need to watch that," Happy says from his right. May is frowning in her sleep in an easy chair to his left. "Tabloid garbage. It seeps into the local news sometimes."

Peter doesn't respond, just swallows thickly and stares at his pale hands. It bothers him more than it should. They haven't said anything bad about him, but it still feels like he's being attacked from all sides.

"It'll pass, kid," Happy points out. "Like that 'catch me outside' girl."

Peter laughs—or almost does—and it comes out like squeezing a broken squeaky toy.

"It's 'cash me ousside'," he rasps.

Happy frowns. "That doesn't make any sense."

The room falls dark. Poppoppops echo through the lowest floor. Happy's out of his chair in an instant.

"Stay here, kid," he orders.

Peter's breath catches on a ragged edge. "Where's Mr. Stark?" he asks.

"He's not here. Pepper made him go sleep at the penthouse. You pretend to be asleep, got it?"

"But, Happy, I—"

"No."

And Happy's out the door, closing it silently behind him. The lock clicks into place.


	9. Haze

The lock clicks into place behind Happy, and it gets harder for Peter to breathe. The cannula in his nose isn't pushing out oxygen anymore. May stirs in her sleep, but she doesn't wake up.

He wants to follow. Any other time, he would ignore Happy in half a second, but now just sitting up without the cool air pushing steadily toward his lungs is making his head start to float. He lays back and tries to focus on breathing, his eyes tracing the sterile white ceiling tiles as his chest heaves.

There must be an emergency generator, because after what feels like eons the room is bathed in soft yellow emergency lights. The oxygen tank hums back to life. Around the lights, a hazy fog begins to form. It builds and starts to sink down to him.

Peter feels detached from himself as he starts to breathe it in. His limbs float on the bed, and even though he can feel the sheets and blankets against them, they still feel like they belong to someone else. Like they're releasing from his body to find their true owner.

The fog keeps coming, filling the room. He wonders briefly if he should be breathing it in. But it smells just a bit sweeter than the oxygen, and it goes straight to his head. He looks back to May, tries to say her name. It doesn't work. She's asleep still, anyway, and she looks more peaceful than before. He thinks joining her sounds nice. Calm. Easy.

His hand moves out toward her, but it doesn't make it more than a couple inches past the edge of his bed. His eyes close.

* * *

Happy has heard more gunfire in his life than he ever would have cared to, so he knows that whatever that noise was, it wasn't a gun. At least not a normal one. It came from the first floor, so that's where he goes, sprinting down the stairwell. The backup lights come on halfway down, and F.R.I.D.A.Y. crackles to life in his earpiece.

"There are five intruders currently in the lobby attempting to commandeer the elevator," she says. "There is also an unknown gas being pumped into the top floor by an external mechanism, concentrated in the lab and Mr. Parker's room."

"Fuck," Happy huffed to himself. He paused at the door from the stairwell to the lobby, sneaking a look through the small window on it. F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s assessment is correct. One man has pulled apart the elevator panel and is fucking with the wiring. Three men guard him, and one taps his foot impatiently to the side. They're all in black tactical gear except the last. Justin Hammer.

Happy is outgunned and outmanned. The tight security revolving around Peter—and even the fucking building—was entirely built on secrecy and stealth. Usually, the kid could protect himself much better than a security team could, but now he is left vulnerable to attack and whatever concoction Hammer was pumping through the vents.

Happy formulates a plan, a way to take them down one by one. But as soon as he cracks open the stairwell door, he's hit by a blast of gray haze, and his mind melts.

He hits the ground hard.


End file.
